


Fear is the Heart of Love

by Pixeled



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Hojo/Vincent Valentine - Freeform, M/M, Soul Bond, child rearing, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-21 19:16:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13747524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixeled/pseuds/Pixeled
Summary: The title is taken from the Death Cab For Cutie song “I Will Follow You Into the Dark”.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dustofwarfare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/gifts).



> This is based on an RP my partner dustofwarfare and I did recently. 
> 
> I intend to write more in this universe. What do you think?
> 
> Btw the cloves Hojo smokes are called “Djarum blacks”. Dustofwarfare and I decided he smokes cloves and it just stuck. And ever since I read The Calamity’s fic I decided Vincent definitely plays the piano. XD

He woke with a horrible pained noise, the noise of a dead man who hadn’t breathed in years and was just learning that he could use his lungs. His eyes shot open and he stared up at the ceiling with eyes that cut into the darkness with their red glow.

“Valentine.” The shrill voice echoed in the final resting place of the man who had been a Turk once upon a time.

“Who disturbs my slumber?” Vincent rasped.

“Dear boy, it’s time you prove useful once again,” the shrill voice continued. “Lucrecia is dead and gone, her use no longer needed, but you,” he intoned, laughing, a horrible evil noise in the darkness. “But you are of use to me now. Wake up. Rise from your coffin.”

Vincent slowly rose up from the coffin and promptly fell against Hojo bonelessly, as if in the time he spent in the coffin he had become gelatinous. Hojo took him in his arms and righted him, sneering at him.

“Pathetic,” he ground out, adjusting his glasses in the relative darkness, the glass glinting in the low light. Then he turned and left, expecting Vincent to follow. The dead man gathered himself and jerked forward like a corpse reanimated, taking slow steps out of the basement, following Hojo up the winding staircase like an automaton.

Once they were in the light of the mansion, Vincent drew his cloak over his eyes, shielding himself from the light.

“What is the meaning of this, Hojo? You murdered me and made me into a monster, why can’t you let me rest?” he ground out.

“You’ve rested enough. Twelve years I’ve left you to that dusty coffin, but you are needed now. Your son has been without his father for twelve long years. Come.”

Despite himself, Vincent’s legs moved and he followed his nemesis, his murderer. A million thoughts raced in his mind, and he saw Lucrecia in his mind falling, her hand clutched around her abdomen. The image burned in his retinas and it was hard to see anything else. He stumbled as he walked and Hojo only laughed, the sound grating in his ears. They walked until a bright atrium came into view, Vincent’s eyes struggling to adjust. For a moment the child he saw before him looked bathed in bright whiteness and looked almost angelic, his bow lips quirked down slightly as if in thought. His eyes were a bright green, the pupils cat slit in the brightness, his hair a long swath of silver that ran down past his shoulders.

“Sephiroth, this is your father. He has been slumbering for years after a transformation of sorts. He is special, like you, not of this world.” Hojo explained it succinctly as if it was just as easy as that. The years of torture, the way Hojo had kept him conscious as he ripped him apart, all of that was neatly avoided.

Vincent swallowed dryly. When Lucrecia was thinking she tended to frown, and Sephiroth had her pouty lips. There were other traces of her too, he felt. The shape of his face, the specific roundness of her eyes. He could see himself too, in his jaw, in the point to his chin. Little things. Little things that mattered so much. But why was his hair stark white? Why were his eyes green?

“What did you do to him?” Vincent asked, the hostility creeping into his normally low even voice.

“You’re looking at the future of SOlDIER,” Hojo said proudly, his chest puffing up with pride. “Engineered to be the deadliest weapon ShinRa has,” he sneered.

“You’re a monster, Hojo. He’s just a boy. Only the goddess knows what torture you’ve put him through,” Vincent sneered back.

“Professor isn’t a monster,” Sephiroth said in his clear child’s voice. “He’s a scientist.”

Vincent stormed away from the atrium, going down the winding stairs and breathing hard as if he needed to draw in breath, which he didn’t. But seeing Sephiroth, knowing the baby that had been ripped from Lucrecia’s arms had been his, it was all too much.

He looked around and sat at the grand piano that stood in the great room, trying to focus on not letting his thoughts swirl, but it was overwhelming. Years ago when he became overwhelmed with the project or when he was bored he would play the piano. It grounded him, made him feel the earth under his feet and the keys beneath his fingers. Now he had one gruesome clawed hand, but he negotiated it onto the keys just like his fingers had been before and he started to play a sad melody. It drifted up into the dreary house, the tone befitting of it.

Eventually he heard foot falls.

“Are you really my father?” Sephiroth asked softly, in a childlike voice that spoke of wonder and slight confusion.

“So says the mad scientist,” Vincent said, not pausing the piece, his hands gliding along the keys. The piano had to be tuned, but it still sounded lovely and it reminded him of the nights he’d spend playing Sephiroth pieces while he was still just a tiny thing in Lucrecia’s womb. He’d had thoughts of taking her and running away, and he even tried, but Hojo put a stop to all of that.

“I wanted Professor Gast to be my father,” Sephiroth said, frowning again.

“Sephiroth, go to the lab and wait for me,” Hojo told the child. Sephiroth nodded and left, looking back over his shoulder at Vincent curiously.

When Hojo and Vincent were alone, Vincent splayed his fingers out on the keys, their rapid movements ceasing.

“Keep playing,” Hojo told him. “Vincent, you are his father by blood.”

“How are you so sure he’s mine?” Vincent asked, continuing to play to give his hands something to do, not necessarily because Hojo told him to continue.

Hojo reached into his pocket and sat at the piano alongside Vincent, producing a zippo and a pack of cloves that was down to the last four. It was an all black pack with all black cigarettes. He delicately shook one out and placed it between his lips, flicking the zippo open and lighting its tip. Vincent stared at him and took the cigarette from his lips, taking a drag himself. He’d never smoked cloves before. In his past life he’d smoked menthols when he was very stressed out, a carry over from being taught how to live by Veld. The man smoked like a chimney, and only menthols. The clove wasn’t bad. A little too spicy for his liking, but then he wasn’t smoking it for taste.

“I have them imported from Wutai,”Hojo said, stealing the cigarette back.

“You never used to smoke,” Vincent commented, raising a brow.

“I smoked them in grad school,” Hojo said, shrugging. “I’ve developed a need for them now. Raising a child is more stressful than I ever imagined. That’s why you’re here.”

“To raise Sephiroth?” Vincent asked, blinking.

“He’s at a crucial age. He questions everything. He has asked me if I love him, which I do not. You are his father. He is the melding of that disastrous woman and yourself. You always were a sentimental fool—so love him. Love your child and leave me to make him into what he was meant to be. I don’t want him to grow up not knowing what it feels like to have a father.”

“Why did you tear him from a Lucrecia then if you want him to have a parent in his life?” Vincent asked, frowning. He wasn’t sure about any of this.

“That flighty woman would have destroyed everything,” Hojo spat. “She wanted to raise him like a normal child, but he’d been injected with the cells of Jenova in utero. He was no normal baby and would not grow up to be a normal man. You see, it was Gast who put me onto the hypothesis that Jenova was an ancient, and Sephiroth is infused with her cells. She is capable of amazing regeneration and powers beyond what your feeble mind can comprehend.” Here he took a long drag of his cigarette. “Along with the powers of mako…”

“Mako?!” Vincent shouted. He was not a man who shouted, and yet. “You’re injecting him with the lifeblood of the planet?”

“Much has changed since you’ve been laid to rest,” Hojo snorted. “You see, coal has been replaced with Mako energy and the world is thriving. That same energy has rendered Sephiroth with superhuman abilities. I am continuing Gast’s work. The boy is rather adept with materia.”

“Magic?” Vincent asked wonderingly.

“I suppose you could call it that in unscientific terms, the same sort of ‘magic’ I am employing to keep you here.”

“What do you mean?” Vincent asked, confused.

“Surely you feel the connection you have to me. You are bound to me. I am your master of sorts. It’s very old, this method. I came across it in my research of Chaos. Surely you feel the beast is quiet. I have tamed it somewhat. It’s through Chaos I was able to awaken you to do what I say.”

“Do you even listen to yourself? I can do whatever I want, and what I’d like to do now is sleep. Atone for my many mortal sins. I am dangerous, Hojo. This power you put in me…”

“Oh dear boy,” Hojo said, laughing dryly. “You really don’t know? It’s really quite sweet if foolish what she did. She meant to save you, but she damned you in the end. Those demons you have taking up residence was all her idea. You were as dead as dead could be. I shot you point blank in the heart. Autopsied you and retrieved the bullet for a keepsake, but she…she made you into a magnificent beast. I could barely contain you in the Mako tube. You raged, morning and night, uselessly. She made you what you are.”

“You’re lying,” Vincent said in a growling tone. What he wanted most, now, was to choke Hojo until the light left his eyes, but something stopped him.

Hojo rose from the piano bench. “Do tune that instrument,” he said casually. “I’d hate for any instrument to be useless.” And with that, he left Vincent to contemplate his fate. In his mind, he heard Hojo through the Mako tube declaring what Lucrecia did to be romantic. He hadn’t put two and two together then, but now…now he knew. 


	2. Into the Silence You Sent Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all enticed Vincent. He thought he was going to be sick, but at the same time he felt desire rise in his belly. He wondered why Hojo was looking at him the way he was, his smile a shark’s smile and his teeth almost too white. And the way his eyes lit up when he was talking to Vincent made him suspicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from Starset’s “Monster”, which is so Hojo/Vincent it hurts XD

Tuning a piano was not an exact science, but then that was why music is an art. Vincent was sitting at the piano tuning it with a wrench of all things when Hojo came up to him and sat at the bench. Vincent barely registered the intrusion he was so focused on his task. When Hojo took out his cloves and zippo the noise of the zippo flicking open made Vincent look up. He’d been notating his changes in a book and his pen was in his mouth. He extracted the pen and looked at Hojo sharply, not at all appreciating the intrusion on his personal space, but then he did not really have any personal space here in the mansion that was at one time occupied by ShinRa. Not really. Now it was Hojo’s home and apparently also Sephiroth’s. He was truly the intruder here, it seemed. And so with that thought he softened the look on his face, but he was still not particularly happy that he was here in this space with his murderer. It had been somehow okay when he was slumbering because he didn’t have to deal with Hojo and the nature of his slumber was that nothing disturbed it, but now that had changed and he was awake and in this space. He had always taken to being alone, but he was rarely afforded the gift of solitude. It seemed it would continue on that way. Hojo had awoken him and was apparently giving him instructions, though those instructions remained vague. So far Hojo had merely told him he was to somehow now be responsible for the rearing of his estranged child. His child whom he’d had no idea of until now.

It was strange, he supposed, because he should have felt some responsibility, but all he really cared about was to continue slumbering. He hated Hojo for waking him, and hated him even more for damning him with responsibility. Still, it felt good to get his hands dirty in the strings of the piano after greasing them up. It felt good to find the exact pitch he was looking for in the notes he played over and over.

Hojo just smirked at him and lit his clove, taking a long exaggerated drag. He blew out the smoke after inhaling most of it, looking at Vincent expectantly.   
“So. You’re ready to get your hands dirty with an instrument but you’re not ready to get your hands dirty with what you truly are responsible for,” Hojo sneered. “Perhaps you and I are not so dissimilar.” Here he blew out more smoke after a particularly long inhale. This irritated Vincent gravely and he took to again stealing the clove from Hojo’s lips, taking in the drag sharply and needy, as if the nicotine could expunge some of his annoyance with this man. It only seemed to alleviate it only temporarily, because Hojo stole the clove back, but then lit Vincent one of his own. Vincent took it graciously enough if only because it was his one defense against the man now besides focusing on the piano, which he could not really do with the man sitting there.

“Don’t bore me, Valentine,” Hojo complained. “Your reticence is palpable. You may not think this way, but I am not your enemy. Yes, I did in fact kill you,” he said waving his hand, “but you forget the simple truth that you drove me to shoot you. Truly, what choice did you leave me? You were threatening the very heart of my project, just as that meddlesome woman was, and the way I see it, I needed to get rid of you before you destroyed all of my hard work. Surely you can step outside of your pathetic gothic bleakness and trite misplaced anger and see it my way.” He took another long drag here, finishing the cigarette and lighting another.

“Really?” Vincent scoffed, “blaming the victim. That’s low, even for you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Vincent,” Hojo said, laughing. “Besides, you have yet to realize your full potential. Within you resides an ancient being, a demon of sorts, that is capable of rending me limb from limb. If you truly wanted to make me suffer, you could in fact exact your cruel revenge. In any case, I didn’t wake you to rehash the past.”

“Right,” Vincent laughed bitterly, “You woke me to claim Sephiroth is mine.” He smoked his clove aggressively, the cherry glowing brightly in the low light.

“Make no mistake,” Hojo said, “that is your child.”

“How are you so sure?” Vincent asked.

“I had a very bad case of the Wutaian mumps when I was a child,” Hojo said. “I overcame it, but I was rendered sterile. And so, my dear boy, I could not have possibly fathered any children.”

“How convenient,” Vincent said, returning to tuning the piano, the clove held tightly between his lips. He was marking down the notes the piano was making. He had an ear for these things, always had. It was one of his secret talents. Hojo watched him with clinical interest. Vincent too felt a certain inclination toward Hojo that was not entirely unpleasant. He didn’t know what to make of it. It was as if he were hyper aware of the other man sitting beside him—his smell, his aura, his presence. He didn’t want to stop and think about it so he continued to do what he was doing, though he felt the heat of Hojo’s gaze.

“So say I go along with your crazy scheme to get me to, now, after twelve years, suddenly take care of this child I don’t know. What’s in it for me?” Vincent asked.

“You ask that, knowing he’s your son?”

“I ask that, knowing what you’re capable of,” Vincent said, frowning.

“See, the thing is, Valentine, you are obligated to do what I say,” Hojo said with a sinister air.

“And why is that?” Vincent queried.

“The bond. It is very old science. As I have told you. It binds you to me, as I am the one you will be dealing with most certainly. I created the bond, and I don’t know how it is broken. Of course, I may research it if I grow tired of you or if you do not serve your purpose, but I think you will. Your connection to that woman means that you will protect her progeny. I am almost certain of it.” With that, Hojo continued smoking, making the act look like pure sex almost. That bothered Vincent, because he should not be finding anything Hojo did to resemble anything sexual in nature, and yet here he was very clearly responding to the man’s unintentional sexual display—the way he placed the cigarette to his lips and sucked slightly, the movement of his fingers. It all enticed Vincent. He thought he was going to be sick, but at the same time he felt desire rise in his belly. He wondered why Hojo was looking at him the way he was, his smile a shark’s smile and his teeth almost too white. And the way his eyes lit up when he was talking to Vincent made him suspicious.

“Do you…feel that?” Vincent asked tentatively.

“Feel what, dear boy?” Hojo asked, smirking knowingly.

“The connection. I can almost feel the pleasure you’re getting from that cigarette.” Hojo smiled wide at this.

“The connection is certainly taking a route I hadn’t considered. Tell me this, Vincent. You had unorthodox closeness with your boss when you were a Turk , did you not? Perhaps you even had a sort of relationship?” Hojo asked slow and with intent to rile Vincent.

“Veld?” Vincent asked. “Why do you ask that?”

“You had a sexual relationship with him. I asked a few former Turks. You two were reported to have a certain, ah, closeness? A closeness no two other Turks had.”

“What business is that of yours?” Vincent asked, coloring somewhat at the memory of Veld, who he knew was most certainly gone by now, but who left a stain on his heart. It was Veld who was his first kiss, his first everything. Hojo watched the former Turk flush and his shark smile returned.

“Ah, so it is true, then. I heard tale that Veld bedded you even when you were not but a few years older than Sephiroth is now.”

“I was sixteen,” Vincent confirmed. “But it’s not like you think,” he said.

“And how do I think it to be? He took advantage of you, did he not?”

“I came onto him,” Vincent said sheepishly. “We were drinking one night and he asked me if I’d ever been with anyone and I told him I hadn’t but I thought about him often,” he said. “Why am I even telling you this?”

“Because I asked,” Hojo said simply. “You realize getting you drunk was his ploy, do you not? He set a trap for you and you fell right in.”

“Look, I had no one. My father had died and left me a warden of the state. What was I to do? Veld treated me with kindness and he put a roof over my head,” Vincent said defensively.

“Which you paid for with your body,” Hojo interjected.

“Veld was good to me,” Vincent insisted, glaring at Hojo. “Besides, what are you implying? That you want me to give you the same treatment? You house me and I give you my body?”

“I never said that, did I? It’s just tragic you lived that life without a father. I don’t want that for Sephiroth.”

“If you abused him in any way,” Vincent started, eyes intensely red and focused on Hojo. His clove was almost down to the filter now. He sucked away at it like a lifeline.

“You have nothing to worry about there,” Hojo smirked. “I can get what I want from you, which is total devotion. You had that for Veld, did you not?”

“Keep fucking dreaming,” Vincent growled. “You’re not getting anything from me,” he said with conviction. But he felt that lust in his belly so acutely now, and it was maddening. He shouldn’t feel this way for someone he hated so much. This was his murderer, the man who had torn him apart to see how he worked and made him a beast, no matter how Hojo had claimed it was Lucrecia. Maybe it was, but it was Hojo who drove her to such desperation. If Hojo hadn’t killed him, then Lucy certainly never would have gone through such measures as to place demons inside him. Was that the only way to have saved him? To force him to an eternity of feeling like a monster? He couldn’t see Lucrecia doing it in any other way. Out of love. But then she had gone away, capitulating herself to an eternity frozen in a crystal where she could neither see him nor love him the way she did. Why would she damn him to an eternity of being able to watch her in her final resting place? It was maddening. She had brought him back for nothing. He, despite what Hojo said, had no purpose, and that was why he slept. Because if Lucy got to sleep, then so he too deserved to, where he would dream of running to her arms and kissing her pretty bow lips, so like her son’s.

“Where did you go?” Hojo asked when Vincent stopped answering him and instead stared at the piano thoughtfully. Vincent looked up and stared at Hojo, finishing the clove.

“Where you can’t reach me,” Vincent said moodily. Hojo laughed.

“Dear boy, I will always be there to pull you back. It was Lucy you were thinking of, am I right? What she did to you? She was quite good at manipulation. She played you for a fool. She got what she wanted, which was to get pregnant with your baby. She even manipulated you into loving her. Perhaps she saw that as the only way to trap you. But she is dead and gone. She resides in some cave now. Forget her. You have her son now, and he is so much more magnificent. Like you. One of a kind. There are no others like him. Just like you. You are magnificent, even if you do not believe it. The important part is that you believe you are, and I am going to make you see it.”

“I see that I am a monster who should be locked away,” Vincent said miserably.

“Nonsense,” Hojo said, “You will be the boy’s teacher, and you will teach him about his powers.”

This talking should have diminished the raw sexual need within Vincent, but for some reason he wanted to share in the taste of the clove. He wanted to reach forward and take Hojo’s tie in his hands and kiss him deep and slow, savor in it. This aggravated him, because he knew it wasn’t really his desire but some strange bond magic, but he wanted it all the same and was afraid that it was really him, at the core, who wanted his murderer, his transgressor. Hojo was sitting entirely too close. He could feel his breath tickling his cheek, and by then it was too late. Hojo took a drag of his clove again and leaned in to Vincent, blowing the smoke in his mouth and then they were kissing. Vincent had no idea how it started or who started it, just that they were now locked together with their lips, tongues, and teeth, and that the kiss was aggressive and hot, a battle of teeth, lips, and tongues. Hojo was now sliding his hand up Vincent’s shirt to feel his hot belly, dragging the fabric up. He paused at what he saw there. In plain script was his name stamped out on Vincent’s hot skin like a tattoo. And it wasn’t the name Hojo, but his first name, which practically no one knew. Ichirou. He traced it lightly with his fingers, then pulled his own shirt up to look at his stomach. There in tight frilly script was Vincent’s name. He traced it with two fingers, then he dropped his shirt and concerned himself with the long jagged scar of his autopsy of Vincent twelve years ago. It looked angry and red against his pale skin and he was fascinated by the feel. Vincent was panting somewhat and Hojo pushed him, pulling him up to sit up against the keys of the piano. The keys resounded in the large open space and Vincent made a noise something like a moan when Hojo surged forward to lean against him, practically climbing up on top of him on the piano. He kissed him again then, all teeth and tongue and hot need, pulling the shirt up over Vincent’s head, then pulling his pants down next and kissing him again searingly, claiming him. Vincent whimpered and grabbed at Hojo’s shirt, pulling it apart, all the buttons going scattering every which way. His tie clip also flew off somewhere as Vincent tugged his tie knot apart and tossed it somewhere. Who was doing what was lost in a frenzy of kissing and biting. Hojo bit at the juncture of Vincent’s neck and shoulder and he was next shoving his fingers in his mouth.

“Suck,” Hojo commanded, and Vincent took the fingers in his mouth heatedly, his red eyes boring into Hojo’s brown ones as he laved the fingers in his saliva. When they were adequately coated, Hojo extracted them and shoved Vincent up higher on the piano to slip a finger inside his tight entrance. Vincent cried out and bit at his lip, pressing down against the intrusion. Every time they moved the keys of the piano cried out as if it too was involved in the throes of ecstasy. Hojo pressed a second finger inside Vincent and kissed him even as Vincent was moaning into his mouth. Their sex was wordless and efficient, Hojo stretching him in preparation. When he was satisfied and Vincent grew impatient, he spit into his hand and coated his cock with saliva, pushing himself inside Vincent with a long groan. He grabbed the edge of the piano and pushed himself all the way inside him, capturing him in another kiss as he nudged against him. Vincent dragged his mouth away and his head rolled back, a throaty cry escaping his lips. Hojo began moving then, pulling away only to push back inside heatedly, and started to laugh softly.

“I had no idea the bond would make me want to fuck you,” he panted. “Still, you feel sinfully good.”

“Shut up and keep fucking me,” Vincent panted back. “Right there…don’t stop,” he whined. Hojo obliged, fucking him harder, grinding against his prostate with a heady need. He was getting closer and he wanted to take Vincent over the edge with him. He wanted him to know who it was taking him there too, so he grabbed at the back of Vincent’s neck and forced him to look at him.

“Look at me, Vincent. It’s me who is forcing you over the edge. Look at me as I make you come,” he said breathily. Vincent glared at him for a moment, but then Hojo ground against his prostate again and his eyes rolled back in his head, feeling the pleasure and the shame of it acutely.

“Make me come,” he panted, and Hojo laughed and backhanded him hard across the face. Vincent’s head went sharply to the side and he made a surprised little whimpering noise, holding his face where the professor had smacked him.

“Come,” Hojo laughed. “Do as you’re told,” he said, and with that backhanded him the other way, hitting him even harder. Vincent cried out and came hard between their bellies, his eyes rolling back again. He clamped down hard around Hojo and tore the scientist’s orgasm from him. He went tumbling over the edge with Vincent. They both lay against the piano bonelessly. Hojo had seen white when he came, the intensity of it not at all expected. Smacking Vincent had given him a thrill. He wanted him to come, but he also wanted him to hurt.

“You hit me. Twice.” Vincent’s lip was split on the side and he was nursing it miserably. Hojo only climbed off him and began assembling his clothes.

“Yes, and you liked it rather much, I should say. You came very hard,” Hojo observed, smirking.

“Fuck you,” Vincent said with acidity.

“It seems like you already have, dear boy,” Hojo laughed. “Now. Go attend to Sephiroth. He will be in bed now, but he occasionally has nightmares and asks for a sleep potion at night. You will give him this,” he said, handing Vincent the little vial. Vincent took the vial with a frown on his face and dressed hastily, not looking at Hojo the whole time.

“And do take this,” Hojo added, handing Vincent another vial. It was a potion to heal his face. He drank it down fast and left Hojo, feeling the sting go out of his lip and jaw.

Later on, after leaving Sephiroth, he retired to the old room he used to occupy in the mansion and laid down. He lifted his shirt and saw the name across his belly that must have been Hojo’s. Ichirou. He repeated the word out loud as if tasting it. He closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep, but it eluded him. It was the middle of the night when he went to Sephiroth’s room and took the chair that sat opposite the bed and fell asleep watching the child’s rapid eye movements beneath his eyelids. He was watching him dream.

In the morning, he would find Hojo, but for now, it calmed him somewhat to look for Lucrecia in Sephiroth’s features as he slept. In the morning he would tell Hojo this was madness, but right in this moment it all felt…right. This was his son, Lucrecia’s son, and he was growing to be a soldier. What that meant, he didn’t know, but in the light of the morning he hoped it would all make sense.


End file.
